


RK1K Week Day 1 - Painting | Playing An Instrument

by Rigel126



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, RK1K Week 2020 (Detroit: Become Human), no beta - we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26745643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel126/pseuds/Rigel126
Summary: A fluffy oneshot set in a medieval fantasy setting. Be prepared for RK1K kisses.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	RK1K Week Day 1 - Painting | Playing An Instrument

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of my work for RK1K Week 2020, with some corrections of typos in the text. Originally posted on my Tumblr.

Ever since the Kingston Senate voted to grant rights to Spellcasters, great changes have swept through society. Prejudices against Spellcasters were slow to change, but now many of them found the courage to stand up tall, proud and open in the streets.

Foremost among the Spellcasters living in Kingston was the Jericho Coven, who now had their own shop called the Manfred Art House down in the Merchants Quarter. The group of Spellcasters who dared to stand up to oppression and fight for the rights of their brethren had achieved a certain level of fame within the city and beyond.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson and Inspector Connor were summoned to the Manfred Art House for an investigation. It was their area of authority ever since Captain Fowler, leader of the Kingston Peacekeeper Corps decided that they would specialize in Spellcaster-related crimes. When they arrived, other Peacekeepers were already at the scene, with several nasty-looking men lumped together on the floor with their hands tied up. There was evidence of an altercation in the shop, with shattered fragments across the floor.

“What happened here?” demanded Hank to no one in particular.

A Peacekeeper officer jogged up to Hank and saluted. “Sir. The shop owners called us in. Witnesses say that these men came here to scare off customers, vandalize the shop and intimidate the witches-“

Hank clapped one hand heavily on the Peacekeeper and growled. “It’s a new age with new laws, lad. And the word you should be using now is ‘Spellcaster’.” Hank squeezed hard until the Peacekeeper winced in pain. “You hear me?”

“Y-yes, sir!”

“Good!” Hank gave him a shove as he released the man. “Bring these thugs back to the station for questioning. I’ll have a word with the staff here.”

The Peacekeeper was not happy, but he saluted Hank and went on his way.

“Hank! Connor! Thank you for coming so soon.” A wooden wheelchair rolled across the floorboards, propelled by nothing except magic. Upon it sat Carl Manfred, master painter, owner of the shop and a respected elder of the Jericho Coven and among Spellcasters.

“Master Manfred,” Connor took a step forward and bowed. “I heard what happened here. Was anyone hurt?”

Carl smiled at the young man. “No, my good boy. A few of our customers were shaken and we lost a few of our wares as you can see around us -” Carl waved a gnarled hand to the debris on the floor, “but fortunately my children were able to stop those brigand before they could cause any serious harm.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Hank. “This looks like a clear-cut case of hate crime against Spellcasters. I’m sure they will be convicted pretty easily. As for your loss in goods, you can file a claim for compensation against those good-for-nothings.”

“Certainly, and thank you so much for your help and support.”

Carl noticed Connor looking around and grinned. “Looking for someone, my boy?”

Connor looked startled but quickly recomposed a stoic appearance. “No, sir,” was his mechanical answer.

“If you’re looking for Markus, I believe he’s still at the palace to discuss some draft laws with His Majesty and the Elder Senators.”

“Connor?”

Just the sound of that familiar voice was enough to make Connor’s face light up. “Markus!”

“Hank! Dad! What happened here?” Markus demanded, alarmed by the mess.

“My son, do not worry. We had a few troublemakers come by, but everything’s fine now. Luther and Leo took care of them. Hank and Connor are here now so it’ll be just fine.”

“Ahem!” Hank cleared his throat. “Connor, it’s nearly the end of your shift. Why don’t you let me wrap this up?”

“But Lieutenant,” protested Connor. “Your shift will –“

Hank silenced Connor with a hand. “You haven’t seen your boyfriend in a while, haven’t you? You’re dismissed.”

“Hank, I –“

“But! In return I want you to write up the report for me tomorrow morning, you hear? No more arguments from you, kid.”

Connor’s stiff lips showed his mild displeasure. “Fine.”

Hank nodded smugly. “Good.” He glanced at Markus and pointed a finger. “I’m leaving my boy in your hands. Be sure to return him to me in one piece tomorrow morning or I’ll break you in two, even if you _are_ the most famous Spellcaster in Kingston.”

“Tomorrow morning?” Markus blinked, then smiled broadly. “Absolutely, Lieutenant Anderson. You have my word for it.”

“Hank!” Connor blushed, but Hank was already on his way out of the shop.

Carl’s magical wheelchair creaked again, and the old man rolled over to the shop counter. “Don’t you boys worry a thing about this mess. The others can help me clean up. You two just go upstairs and get some rest till dinnertime.”

“Dad –“

“You heard your old man.” North cut Markus off, hefting a broom and a bucket in his hands. “Now go snog your man where we can’t see you.”

“Screw you North.”

“Hah! Just try, jackass! But it’s not like you can take your hands or eyes of your doe-eyed boyfriend long enough for that.”

Markus pouted and crossed his arms. “Hmph! That girl.”

But Connor was smiling shyly in the way that always made Markus’ heart beat faster. At times like this it was hard to believe that Connor was a Peacekeeper and before that a Paladin tasked with hunting Spellcasters back in the days when the zealotry of the Sanctum of Life fed hatred and fear into the minds of the people.

“Come on Connor. Let’s get you changed into something more comfortable. After that, I want to show you something.” Markus took Connor’s gauntleted hand and led him towards the stairwell.

*

It took Markus all his willpower not to drool as he watched Connor change out of his armour and Peacekeeper uniform and into Markus’ clothes.

Connor hardly fared better, gawking like a love-sick idiot while Markus shrugged off his supremely annoying toga and sashes in favour of something more comfortable and less restrictive.

“This way.” Markus waved at Connor to follow him to the back on the spacious loft which housed Markus living space and personal workshop.

Connor lips parted and he gazed in wonder at a painting that Markus was working on. It depicted a young man in a ancient-styled tunic with a lyre on his lap and a soft cone-shaped cap on his head, playing music for a beautiful dancing woman. Although the painting was only half-finished, Markus’ artistic skill was apparent in achieving the summit of realism – no, it was beyond realism, for Connor felt his gaze drawn to the painting, almost as if he would be sucked into it.

“It’s beautiful,” marvelled Connor, his soft brown eyes running admiringly on the strokes of grey outlines on the canvas and colours between them.

“It’s a commission from the wife of Senator Brielle. I call it ‘Orpheus courting Eurydice’.” Markus put his hands on his hips to survey his work thus far.

Connor stepped closer, but cautiously, careful to keep his distance lest he inadvertently ruined such a masterpiece. “I can see how your painting alludes to the legend.”

“Would you like to help me finish it?”

“What? But I’m not painter, Markus. I can’t even hold a paintbrush right.”

Markus chuckled and fixed his green and blue eyes on his lover. “Maybe, but that’s not what I’d like you to do. You see, I’m experimenting with a new form of art, one imbued with magic. I call this art-form ‘living painting’.”

Connor tilted his head, casting an inquisitive look at Markus, whose rust-coloured skin seemed to glow when hit by rays of the late afternoon sun that filtered through the window.

“When this painting is finished, the figures will move as though they were alive. And since I’ve depicted Orpheus here playing his lyre, I thought that it would be wonderful if I could incorporate music into it.” Markus turned to Connor and looked at Connor hopefully. “Would you play the lyre for me while I paint and enchant the picture?”

Connor hated himself for being so weak to Markus’ puppy eyes. But really, who could say no when Markus had that look? He sighed. “Alright, I only know a few songs, however. And I can’t say that I’m the best bard in the city either.”

Markus kissed Connor on the cheek. “Just play what you can and try to put some magic into your playing. I’ll do the rest.”

Connor rolled his eyes with a sigh, picking up the lyre that Markus had left for him. Connor got comfortable on a tall stool, balanced the lyre on his lap and propped it in place with his left hand. In the fingers of his right hand, Connor held a pick into which he channelled his magic. Not too much however. “Whenever you are ready, Markus.” Connor’s magically charged fingers hovered next to the strings.

Markus picked up his paintbrush and palette. “Let’s do this.”

Pick in hand, Connor began to pluck a calming, nearly hypnotic melody while Markus’ paintbrush swam across the tightly-drawn canvas strung up on his easel. Magical energy flowed in both the brush and the strings, the colours and the music, obtaining an ethereal quality born out of the synergy of two lovers who completed each other.

Nearly two hours later, Markus put the last dab of paint and gently blew life into the two figures that he drew. At the same time, Connor drew his song to an ending cadence. The two men laid down their respective instruments. Connor came closer until his shoulder brushed lightly against Markus’ to see what was done. If Connor had not been impressed by Markus’ work earlier on, he would be now.

Markus chuckled. “Now watch this.” He touched his fingers on a discreet line of runes painted at the bottom corner of the canvas, and the painting came to life: Orpheus, seated on a mossy rock, began to strum his own lyre to the tune that Connor played while his wife Eurydice danced, her loosely pleated hair and the folds of her dress twirling with every spin and sway body made. The flowers around Orpheus swayed too, as if moved by wind, and in the background birds glided across the blue skies.

“This is amazing,” gasped Connor, his voice filled with wonder.

All of a sudden, Connor grabbed Markus and pulled him close; he kissed Markus deeply for the longest time, arms holding tightly onto Markus as if Connor was afraid of losing him.

Even after they stopped for air, Connor continued to hug Markus. “You’re amazing, Markus,” Connor breathed.

Markus leaned in. “I’ve been wanting you to do that for a while,” he whispered. “Kiss me again.”

And so Connor did. Again and again. As many times as both he and Markus desired, with all the overflowing love in their hearts while the Orpheus continued to play his lyre in the background.

_END_


End file.
